


Dean and the Doula

by whichstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Childbirth, Crack, Dean is going to be an uncle!, Doula Castiel, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, aaaaw, why am I writing this at 3 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-04 18:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10996395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Castiel is Eileen's doula. FOR REASONS, you guys.





	1. Meet cute

“Fuck. Fuck!” Sam's voice cuts through the phone and Dean winces and holds his cell phone back from his ear.

“Sammy,” Dean says in his calmest voice. “It's gonna be fine, man. I'll be at the hospital in like ten minutes, okay? And you're only an hour out. So just calm down, hang up the goddamn phone, and drive your ass safely there, alright? Eileen is fine.”

Sam's reply is a garbled growl followed by a tense, sharp exhale. “Okay. Okay, you're right. Eileen said her doula's there already.” He sighs again. “Fuck. Okay, it'll be fine.”

“Yeah, man. She's cool. Her, uh, doula's there, man. Everything's okay.” Dean spends the rest of his drive soothing his brother – after making sure Sam's got the phone on bluetooth speaker rather than holding it in his hand like a jittery idiot. Until he pulls into the hospital's parking garage Dean wonders, _what the fuck's a doula_?

* * *

The maternity ward is quiet this time of night. It's past normal visiting hours so Dean just passes crisply pressed nurses wearing patterned scrubs, a couple women huffing as they pace the halls with planetary bellies, and a few new parents with deep bags under their eyes clasping newborns in varying states of wakefulness. Eileen's room is at the end of a nice, quiet long hallway painted rose petal pink. Anne Geddes prints pockmark the walls. Everywhere Dean looks he sees flowers and babies and he thinks, _shit, I should've brought_ _a bouquet_ _with me_. As it is, he's going empty-handed into the hospital room where his brother's wife will be giving birth. He knows he's just a placeholder for his brother who's been out of town working on a case the past two days. _Maybe the gift shop's still open._ He'll sneak down after Sam arrives.

Dean's not sure what to expect when he gets to Eileen's room. Given what he's seen in movies, he's braced himself for screaming, preternaturally strong hand holding, and possibly some Exorcist level demonic glares at any man who dares cross the threshold. What he doesn't expect is to walk into a dimly lit room. Two softly glowing rose salt lamps sit on a table near the bed and the air in the room smells like springtime lilacs. A TV screen at the far end of the room displays rolling ocean waves on an idyllic sandy beach. Eileen isn't on the bed, her face contorted in rage. Instead, she's settled on a large exercise ball, belly out, slowly rolling her hips. Her face is calm, relaxed and smiling as she signs something across the room. Eileen is turned slightly away from the door, so Dean turns to see who she's signing to and freezes.

_Hot guy alert._

Sitting cross legged on a short couch in the room is one of the most alluring men Dean has ever seen. He's wearing a deep blue collarless button down shirt with the top three buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to frame corded forearms. His jeans stretch snugly over his thighs when he leans forward to gesticulate. His dark hair is tousled, his chin shadowed in scruff, and his mouth is open in a wide, engaging grin that shows off dimpled cheeks. He signs enthusiastically to Eileen.

Eileen rocks back with silent laughter and as she does so she spots Dean lurking at the door. He lifts his hand and gives her a weak wave. He knows she's not the person she's really waiting for. “Sorry,” he says, bumbling his way through signing but making sure his lips move cleanly. “Didn't know you had a friend visiting. I can give you guys some space.”

Eileen lights up. “Dean!” she says. “You didn't have to come.”

Dean shrinks into himself a little. “Yeah, I know. Sam--”

“Worries.” Eileen's smile is fond and she presses her hand to her lips and extends it out to him, exaggerating the gesture. “Thanks for being here, anyway.”

“Wouldn't miss it,” Dean says, which is the honest truth. He knows that Sam and Eileen are the ones who are really undergoing a life change tonight, but when he stops and thinks about becoming an uncle? Honestly, he gets chills. He might – just might – have three pastel wrapped boxes at home ready to take over to Sam's once the burgeoning family heads home. And if he has a whole folder in his browser bookmarks devoted to children's toys? Well, nobody needs to know but him.

Eileen signs something to her friend which – damn it – is too quick for Dean to follow and her friend laughs, his entire face transforming into something like sunshine. He looks at Dean out of the corner of his eye and huffs a laugh. “Sorry,” Eileen says to Dean. “I should introduce you. Cas, this is Dean Winchester, Sam's brother. Dean, this is Ca--” She drops her hands abruptly, her face screwing up in a look that's somewhere between concentration and pain. She purses her lips and breathes. Cas springs up from the couch. He crosses over to stand behind her and presses his palms against the skin at the base of her neck. Slowly, he runs his hands down her shoulders, down her upper arms, down to her elbows. Then he picks up his hands and places them on her neck and traces the same path. He does this several times while Eileen breathes shakily. _In. Out. In. Out._ Gradually, her breathing returns to normal and her expression clears.

Dean wants to run from the room. Oh god, he just witnessed his first contraction. He did not sign up for this. “That looks pretty shitty,” he tells her when she finally drags her gaze up to look at him again.

Eileen gives him an exhausted half smile and rolls her eyes as if to say, _no shit_ _._ She grabs Cas's hand and pulls him around so he can see her. “That was a bad one.”

Cas settles into a crouch so he can sign close to her. “I know,” he says and Dean starts in surprise at the finely modulated voice rolling across his senses like crushed velvet. He'd just assumed that Cas was deaf as well. “It's finally starting to pick up.” He pats her shoulder consolingly. “Upside? You might actually give birth tonight.”

Eileen makes a face at Cas and then directs it to Dean. “The nurses thought this might just be false labor. But I am getting this fucking baby out tonight.” Her face closes in concentration and Dean thinks that if anyone can will their body to pop out a baby on cue, it will be Eileen.

Dean settles on a stiffly upholstered chair beside the salt lamps and clears his throat. “So. Babies, huh?” he says stupidly.

Cas gives Dean a long considering look then stands and walks over to a rolling tray set beside the unused bed. He grabs a short blue pitcher from the table and waggles it in the air. “Dean. Can you get Eileen some ice?”

Dean jumps up and reaches out to take the pitcher. He thinks he probably blushes as his fingers brush Cas's but given the low light conditions nobody needs to know. He tries not to stare at the deep V of bare skin visible through Cas's open shirt. “Yeah, no problem. Ice.”

Cas's gaze flicks up and down Dean's body so quickly Dean thinks he may have imagined it. One eyebrow quirks up. “Down the hall, take a left at the first corridor. The kitchenette is on the right.” His eyes seem to settle squarely on Dean's lips before he looks up to meet Dean's gaze. His lips part just a fraction and for a moment they do nothing but share air, their eyes locked.

The exercise ball squeaks on the hospital floor. Dean leaves the room. He gets ice.

* * *

Dean carries back the pitcher of ice chips and tries to whip his head into shape. _Now is not the time,_ he sternly lectures himself. _Don't hit on Eileen_ _'_ _s friend. Don't hit on Eileen's friend._

“I got ice,” he announces when he returns. Eileen is settled on the couch, one foot in Cas's lap. Cas leans over her leg, pressing his fingers into the soles of her foot. The curve of his shoulders pull his shirt across his tightly muscled back and Dean actually feels himself flinch at the sight. Cas turns around, still massaging Eileen's foot.

“Great,” Cas says with a smile. “Thanks.” He turns back to Eileen who has her head tilted back to rest on the couch, eyes closed. “So Sam's brother, huh? I've heard a lot about you.”

“All good things I hope.”

“Of course. Or, neutral things, at least.”

Dean laughs and sets the pitcher of ice on the table, then settles in the chair again. “Well, I guess I gotta take what I can get. Now you,” Dean says reveling in his own nonchalance, “I haven't heard a damn thing about. How do you know Eileen?”

Cas twists his head towards Dean again, frowning slightly. “I'm...Eileen's doula,” he says slowly.

Dean's mouth drops open. “ _You're_ her doula?” he asks, incredulous. And then he laughs at himself. “Okay, actually, I should rephrase that. You're her _doula_? What the hell's a doula? Sam kept bringing it up but...”

Cas chuckles. “A doula supports the mother,” he says, rolling his thumb along the arch of Eileen's foot. “Before childbirth. During. After. Whatever the new mother needs. It's my job to help out.”

Eileen's eyes fly open and she presses a hand to her stomach, pushing her shoulders back against the cushion. Her breathing turns staccato once again. Cas refocuses on her, eyes locked on her own and they breathe in sync until the contraction has passed. She closes her eyes again and Cas peers at Dean. His expression seems slightly shuttered, shoulders tense despite the soothing circles he draws into Eileen's heels.

“A doula,” Dean says, watching Cas's careful, gentle movements. “That's really cool.”

* * *

Sam rushes in like a tornado, tie flung haphazardly over his shoulder like he got caught in a windstorm in the elevator. He darts to Eileen's side and kneels beside her as she gyrates gently on the birthing ball. “I'm so sorry I'm late,” he signs to her, face drawn into sad puppy lines. She dips her head and awkwardly bends towards him. Sam rushes up and meets her in the middle for a long kiss, drawing his hands up to cup her cheek, stroke her neck. He pulls back and signs effusively again. “I'm so sorry.”

Eileen threads her fingers through his hair and smiles. “Come on,” she says. “Take me for a walk.”

Sam grins and helps her to stand, then loops one arm around her. “We'll just be in the hallway,” Sam tells Dean and Cas. “If a nurse comes looking for us.”

Cas nods and waves at them, then gets up and walks to the table. He unzips a small duffle and begins to unpack it, pulling out clothing for Eileen. Carefully, he folds it and places it in the narrow wooden cabinet to the side of the table. Dean wanders over, curious. “So you're a doula. And, what, you just, like, hang out and help out?”

Cas's eyeroll is so pronounced, he ends up laughing at the ceiling. “A bit more than that. But yes. The simplified version is that I 'hang out and help out.'” He unpacks a stack of baby clothes and a soft knit blanket and places them on shelves in the cabinet, arranging them around some of the hospital provided necessities.

Thinking to help, Dean reaches into the duffle and grabs a yellow book with ducklings on the cover. He recognizes it as a baby book Bobby had given them at the baby shower. Dean smiles at the memory of Bobby's gruff scowl, which failed to hide a tear that managed to slip out and down his cheek. Cas reaches for the book and their hands collide, fingers tangling. Dean freezes for the tiniest split second before he forcefully pushes back the deer-in-headlights feeling that is trying to overwhelm him. He's so curious. He's gotta know. Dean performs an experiment.

In the process of relinquishing the book he lets his fingers splay out. His hand trails over Cas's skin in an unmistakable caress, one blazing line drawn from Cas's smallest finger to the bones in his wrist. Cas lets him do it. His wrist bobbles into Dean's hand ever so slightly as Dean pulls away. Dean can feel it then. He can hear it in the way they're both breathing way too quietly now, overcompensating for wanting to hyperventilate at the sensation of skin on skin. Dean can sense it in the way Cas keeps his gaze riveted on the book and Dean – Dean can't look at Cas either. _Oh yes, there's something there._

Cas sets the book gently down on the table.

“What can I help with?” Dean touches Cas's elbow, leans in, and flips on his million kilowatt smile. Cas blinks at him for a moment, breath hitching. Then his lips settle into a wry smile and he puts Dean to work.

* * *

When Sam and Eileen return it's with a nurse traveling in their wake like a target-locked drone. Eileen shuffles in, panting, and Dean is given to understand by the firmly planted hands on his shoulders shoving him into a corner chair that it's time for this baby to arrive. “Uh, Sammy? Do you want--?”

Sam ignores him, focused entirely on Eileen. Cas presses to her side, soothing her through contractions, signing and speaking between Eileen and her medical team, fluffing the pillows of her hospital bed, guiding her to new positions as her doctor and nurses buzz around the bed. Cas fits like a master key in the delivery room, working seamlessly with the hospital staff and directing Eileen and Sam like a virtuoso conductor. Dean presses himself as small as he can go into the corner chair and watches the horrifying, messy, _smelly_ , miraculous birth of what feels like the most important person on the entire planet with about ninety percent of his brain. The other ten percent of his attention is riveted on Cas. Only Cas.

Eileen has a baby. She's perfect. There might be one – _maybe_ two tears that slip out.

After a while, Dean is allowed to approach the happy trio. He crouches beside Eileen's bed so his head is level with little Athena. “Hey, little bug,” he whispers. “Welcome to the world.”

* * *

Much later, Cas slips from Eileen's room and finds Dean in the little family room attached to the maternity ward kitchenette. “They're sleeping,” he says with a small groan. “All three of them.”

Dean looks up from his magazine and grins. “Ain't that a miracle. You must be an angel sent from Heaven.”

Cas grabs a juice from the mini-fridge and laughs, collapsing into a chair.

“No, seriously, man.” Dean closes the magazine and leans forward so he can look at Cas straight in the eye. “That was amazing, what you did in there. Where'd you learn to do that?”

“Oh, it's natural talent,” Cas says, voice sandpaper rough with exhaustion. “Definitely no training or methodical certification involved at all.”

Dean snorts. He leans back in his chair, tipping it onto its two back legs. “So how does this work? You're on the clock 24/7 or--?”

Cas gulps some juice. “Not 24/7, but I'm contracted for good sized chunks of the next four days. As far as how it 'works," Cas hooks the air with his fingers, "Honestly? My biggest goal is always to get the mother to rest as much as humanely possible.”

Dean thinks about Eileen and Sam, two of the most driven and sleep deprived individuals he knows. “Wow. Good luck with that.”

“I'm aware that I have my work cut out for me,” Cas says drily. He shrugs one shoulder.

Dean laughs and then leans across the small table. “While they're all resting,” he says, caressing the surface of the table in a way he'd very much like to be caressing something else, “would you consider yourself off the clock?”

Cas sets the bottle of juice down with a loud _thunk_.

Dean licks his lips and feels himself burn hot all over. “State mandated break,” he says quietly. “Just for a little while.” He raises his brow at Cas.

Cas breaks into a grin as sudden as sunshine. Slowly he opens his legs, sprawling them out until his right knee shares heated air with Dean's thigh and his toe nudges at Dean's foot. “I do believe I've got a little free time if you've got something in mind.”

* * *

The stairwell is no stereotypical hospital supply closet but at 3 a.m., it's private enough for what Dean has in mind. He holds Cas against the wall with the weight of his body, hands sliding over his firm chest until they bracket Cas's waist and curl into that lovely, soft blue shirt. His fingertips wrap under the hem, grazing skin. His lips are hungry and he kisses Cas, devouring his mouth, nibbling his throat, consuming the breathy moans that escape his lips. “Is this okay?” Dean mumbles, his mouth full of warm skin. “Tell me if-- What're you thinking?”

“What I'm thinking? Mmmph.” Cas bucks under his hands as Dean runs the tense point of his tongue along a muscle in his neck. “Try what you should be thinking about-- Oooooh. You should be-- I'm a licensed masseuse,” Cas whispers into his ear. “I want you to think about everything I can do with my hands.”

“Fuck,” and Dean's voice actually trembles, imagination alive with possibilities. He casts around for something that might reel in this astonishingly attractive man and says without thinking, “I knitted Athena's baby blanket.”

Cas laughs quietly. “You knit?” Cas whispers warm in his ear.

“Mmmm. 'S relaxing.”

“That's fucking hot,” Cas says and Dean grins into the next deep kiss.

“You bet your ass. You should see my cross cable technique. It'll blow your fucking mind.”

Cas tightens his fingers in Dean's hair and tugs him away until there's a gap between them. “Fucking...okay.” He leans back into Dean, or maybe pulls Dean into him. It doesn't matter.

Eventually Cas has to pull away. “I've got a job to do. And you are too distracting,” Cas says into his ear just before he runs his tongue along Dean's outer lobe, “for me to do a damn thing.” He shoos Dean out of the hospital and directs him to return at a more normal hour the next day so he can properly visit his (better rested) family.

Dean leaves the hospital a little while later feeling like his life just blossomed. He's got a new niece, an incandescently joyful brother and sister-in-law, and the phone number of his sister-in-law's incredibly hot doula saved in his phone.

Just two days later Dean brings by Athena's gifts as the little family returns home. Cas is there fixing a light lunch in the kitchen and Dean trails his fingers along the small of his back as he passes by. “See you tonight,” he whispers and Cas leans into the touch. The evening is already alive with promise.


	2. First date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas head out on their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some discussion of postpartum depression.

Dean's best shirt has a tomato sauce stain on it and now he wants to die. Okay,  _ die _ is a little dramatic. But still, since he last saw Cas at Sam's place his mood has taken a serious downturn. He looks in despair at the cornucopia of flannel in his closet and curses the lifetime of casual clothing that working construction generally entails. Ordinarily he’d go with a t-shirt, one of his nicer pairs of jeans, and his leather jacket - the sort of look that says  _ I care but not that much _ . The thing is, he’d worn essentially that combination the night he met Cas since he’d been about to go out with a couple of friends when Sam had called. So that’s out of the question. He slips on a flannel and buttons it over his t-shirt, then shakes his head and unbuttons it, letting the sides hang loose. He lifts the shirt tails. “I look like a friggin’ lumberjack,” he groans. But there’s no help for it now. If he doesn’t get his ass out the door then he’ll be late. Dean is many things, but he’s never late. 

Nerves have stolen over him in the past few hours like an inexorable trickle of icy water. The thing is, Dean doesn’t really date all that often. One night stands? Yes. Casual hookups?  _ God _ , yes. He’s not a monk, for god’s sake, and he’s good at sex. Dean shakes his head as he grabs his keys.  _ Good at sex _ , he thinks.  _ What are you, fourteen?  _ Still, he can kiss. He knows how to use his body. Chemistry - like what happened in that hospital stairwell - is easy. The hard part is the getting-to-know-you dating crap. Cas suggested dinner rather than a movie. Dinner means brightly lit public places where wandering hands or lips are taboo. Dinner means talking while also eating while also not grossing out the other person. It’s not Dean’s favorite balance of activities. He hasn’t actually talked much to Cas other than their brief baby-related interactions. The possibility of failure looms over the evening.

He gets into his car and the familiar scent of leather, the sweet growl of the engine, is barely a balm to his nerves. Dean feels like all of his confidence has leached from him like blood from a wound. He drives across town to Cas’s house, second guessing everything.  _ Everything. _ Dean parks outside of Cas’s surprisingly nice house on the wealthier, tree-saturated part of town and grips the wheel while his mind whirls through all the life decisions he’s made that have led up to this moment. He’s lacking. Seriously lacking. 

Dean is nothing if not dogged and he makes himself get out of the car, walk up Cas’s walkway, and turn on the charm. Cas opens the door and a gust of chocolate chip cookie scented air hits Dean like a punch. “Hello, Dean,” Cas says and his ensuing grin kills all thoughts - positive or negative - that Dean might be harboring. 

Dean hooks his fingers into his jeans and rocks back on his heels, chin tilted up towards Cas casually, every effort put into taking the thrill he feels at the sight of Cas and boxing it up so it remains hidden. “Hello yourself.” He lets his eyes roam. Cas looks amazing in a soft, body hugging smokey gray t-shirt, black jeans held up with a gregarious longhorn belt buckle, and a slim fitting leather jacket. He looks like a delectable sampler of tactile sensation and Dean wants to press the pads of his fingers into his leather clad shoulders and brush his lips over the nipples barely visible through Cas’s thin shirt until they’re teased to hardness. Instead, he asks, “Ready, man?”

Cas nods, flicks the hallway light off, and closes his front door solidly behind him. Dean waits on the step but Cas’s sidewalk is too narrow for both of them to walk abreast so Dean leads the way to the curb. Cas lets out an appreciative whistle when he sees Dean’s gleaming black stallion of a car. Even in the sodium lamplight it gleams like an otherworldly beast, impeccably detailed with blinding-bright chrome accents. “Nice car,” he says and Dean grins at him and pats the hood proprietarily as he walks around Baby to the driver’s seat. 

“Thanks, man. I finally got her street worthy this year.” And it had been worth every penny to see her come back to life. He slides into the driver’s seat, satisfied with the look of surprised awe Cas cast on the car. Okay, so he’s got a couple things going for him.  

He’s also got Zepp going for him. Dean had slipped his custom  _ Magic Mix _ into the car’s tape deck on the way over and the sweet strains of Zepp is just enough to cover any potential awkward silence. He props his left leg casually against the door and turns a seductive smile on Cas. 

Cas stares at him with an inscrutable expression and when Dean catches his eye, his mouth quirks up into an adorable half smile. He takes a breath, shakes his head as though he’d been about to speak, and Dean asks, “What?”

“Ah,” Cas’s laugh is a little wobbly and he rolls his eyes upward in apparent embarrassment. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking of kissing you all day.” He gestures between the two of them with one brow raised. “Can I?”

For a moment Dean thinks about pulling a page from the Winchester playbook. He could shift across the seat and wrap his hands into that leather jacket. His lips could melt Cas into the Impala’s front seat. They’d never make it to dinner, but he’s pretty sure they’d make it  _ somewhere _ . Instead he nods and lets Cas move in.

Cas kisses him gently with just a soft, chaste brush of his warm lips. Their noses align and breath trembles between them. Cas pulls away too quickly and his tongue flicks out to lick his lips before he smiles at Dean. “Thank you.” Cas gestures towards the road. “Shall we?”

Dean fumbles the car into drive and, nearly brain dead with desire, drives them to the restaurant.

* * * 

Cas frowns at the menu and Dean’s palms begin to sweat. It’s not his kind of restaurant, exactly. Technically, every restaurant is his kind of restaurant in that it serves food and he loves food. But still, this restaurant is both fancier and more eclectic than he’s used to. The atmosphere is soft, with muted white raindrop shaped lights hanging down over the natural wood tables like frozen water. The rose hued walls are decorated with an odd mix of Tibetan art and Renaissance style paintings. Over their table hangs a painting of a woman who bears more than a passing resemblance to Drew Barrymore, her hand dripping with grapes and her lips pulled up in a smile rivaling Mona Lisa. The bar is separated from the restaurant proper with a mounted row of walnut-dark prayer wheels. Dean wonders if that’s sacrilegious in some way. It seems like it should be. 

Sam had recommended this place to him. He and Eileen were regulars. Apparently Mediterranean-Indian fusion hit some kind of sweet spot for both of them and it was vegetarian friendly. From their brief non-baby exchanges Dean had gleaned that Cas was into yoga and meditation so it stood to reason that he might be vegetarian as well. He should have asked Eileen more about Cas but he’d gotten the sense that too much socializing was more of a hindrance than welcome. She’d looked exhausted so most of Dean’s time at Sam and Eileen’s was spent letting Eileen nap while Sam rocked their tiny little baby, his entire body lit up with tired joy.

He wonders if Cas would know about the proper use of prayer wheels.

When their waiter comes around Dean orders vegetable samosas and crab bonda for appetizers and a tikka beef kabab for himself. To his surprise Cas orders a grass fed burger. A _ burger. _ With bacon on it. Where was that even on the menu? 

Dean might be a little bit in love already. The first date is probably a little too early in the relationship to trade food so he files this valuable information away for next time.  _ Next time _ . The words feel soft with promise and he adds them to the little box in his head that’s reigning in his desire to drag Cas into the bathroom and fuck him until they both forget their names.

They talk at first about the traffic and the weather and while it’s pleasant enough, Dean feels the evening slipping away from him a bit. His brain scrambles madly, scraping through the limited data he’s managed to glean about Cas in the past couple of days, when Cas says in an abashed tone, “I’m sorry I’m a little out of it.” He’s tracing paths into the table from the beer glass condensation but he looks at Dean steadily, kindly. “After I got back from Eileen and Sam’s I stayed up far too late absorbed in Game of Thrones.”

Dean perks up and shoots finger guns at Cas like the huge dork he likes to pretend that he’s not. “Books or TV show?” He asks. It’s his favorite test in recent years. 

Cas raises a cool eyebrow like he knows what Dean’s doing, the fucker. “Both,” he says. “But last night it happened to be the show. I’m a few episodes behind. This fall has proven to be astonishingly busy for births and I haven’t had the time. But…” Cas hesitates as though considering whether to keep going, then seems to reach some kind of conclusion. He looks steadily at Dean as he says, “but I knew you were a fan. It seemed somehow unforgivable to show up for our date and not be able to talk about what’s going on with Khaleesi.”

“Dude, I know!” Dean bursts out, his chest filled with a delicious lemon glow. Cas must have asked Sam or Eileen about his interests and the thought that he’d taken the time to do that unlocks some of the tension he’d harbored since picking Cas up at his home. Dinner flies by after that as their conversation meanders from pop culture to spiritual quests and everywhere in between. Despite the ease of their conversation, Cas still seems to be a little on edge. He’s spent most of the meal sitting ramrod straight and though his conversation is light enough, Dean feels an odd distance, like Cas is holding back.  _ See _ , he thinks,  _ this is why I don’t do dates.  _ Fucking is easier, and more direct. 

Dean’s swirling his fork through the sinfully delicious key lime pie remnants on his plate when he asks, “So, what kind of hours does a doula usually keep? Are you on call like a doctor so when someone goes into labor you just go running?”

Cas shrugs. “A midwife might just drop everything and dash. My doula work tends to be somewhat more planned. I’m not often hired for the birth. But Eileen and I have been friends for a little while now and there’s the whole sign language thing,” he signs the last part as he says it. “It’s also not my only job.” 

“Really?” Dean leads forward with interest. What else would he do? Nanny, maybe?

“I’m an accountant,” Cas says.

Dean leans back in surprise and Cas huffs a laugh because Dean couldn’t help but flick his shocked eyes between his bedroom-tousled hair and smooth leather jacket. “You do not look like an accountant,” he says appreciatively. 

“I’m not sure if I should thank you for that,” Cas says with the practiced ease of someone who has probably had this exact same conversation dozens of times. He smirks a little. “I started up a small firm after college and never left it. I’ve kept several original clients, but the rest of the workload is managed by my team. I’ve just stepped back from it a bit to allow for more doula and teaching work.”

“Wow.” Dean shakes his head and grins at Cas. “I mean, wow, man. That’s not your typical career move.”

Cas toys with a fleck of sweet rice from his own dessert. “True. It’s been-- It’s because.” He sighs and looks at Dean for a long minute. He must see something in Dean’s gaze because his shoulders slump into a more relaxed pose and he says, “It all started when my sister Hannah had her baby.” 

Cas grimaces. “At the time I was trying to grow my business. I’d just hired on another accountant and felt like I was at the brink of finally breaking out of small business hell and into something a little more stable. I was busy and self absorbed and--” He sat up suddenly, as though censoring himself. “And it might have gone right over my head anyway.

“After Sara was born I stopped by to congratulate the whole family. Hannah looked tired but, you know, good? Good, at least, for having a tiny burping, pooping human attached to her. I was happy, they were happy, I went back to work. And then one day she calls me.” Cas’s voice wavers low and intimate in the booth and his careful expression falters. It’s just a flash but Dean gets the sudden impression that they’re heading into painful waters. 

Dean instinctively leans forward and takes his hand. “Hey man, you don’t need to--”

But Cas gives him a look that can only be interpreted as  _ don’t say stupid things _ and continues, “And then one day I’m at work and she calls me. She’s locked herself out of the house and Sara’s in her crib inside. I say shit like...oh my god where’s Roger and I’ll run over with the spare key right away and she starts to cry. She says she’s afraid she’ll hurt Sara, she didn’t want to tell Roger, and could I please come over.” Cas rolled his eyes heavenward. “I dropped everything and headed over. And the whole time I was driving I was trying to figure out what the fuck was going on because there was no way Hannah could ever hurt anyone, much less her own child. I mean, I got the baby updates online, right? The photos in the crib with the little number blocks counting weeks. I just assumed everything was great. But it turned out she’d developed postpartum depression. That day - the day she called me - she’d had a panic attack so bad it robbed the breath from her body. She pulled herself off the floor, made sure Sara was safe in her crib, and called me for help.”

“That’s awful, Cas.”

Cas shook his head and his fingers tightened in Dean’s hand when he said, “She was so scared. She thought it would go away if she just waited and  _ tried _ to be happy. She tried to explain it to me that day: our mom had four kids while our dad worked all the time. Hannah had kept telling herself that she only had one child to raise. She didn’t need to ask for help.” Cas’s voice has developed a slight wobble and his eyes look suspiciously glassy. Dean tightens his grip and listens.

“She felt so alone. The whole time I thought things were great she felt like she was breaking into pieces. She thought she was a failure. But she’s an amazing mom. She has been all along, you know? She needed help and time. Anyway, the rest of our family is scattered across the country and I guess I was looking for a change - something more meaningful - at the time. Even if I didn’t quite realize it. So I took some time off and I took care of my sister and it is the best decision I’ve ever made.”

“Wow,” Dean holds Cas’s hand and tries to convey with the pressure of his fingers his gratitude that Cas shared that with him because he feels like Cas just reached into his chest, took out his heart, and plunked it on the table between them. He brushes a thumb over the back of Cas’s hand and the other man smiles at him.

“She’s family,” Cas says.

“Yeah. I get that.”

Cas clears his throat. “Anyway, a handful of years later she was recovered enough to want to pour some of herself into the community of new mothers and those supporting mothers. She started working on postpartum issues, teaching classes, that sort of thing. And, uh,” he scratched his head with a crooked grin. “I’ve always been the sort who follows in the family mission. At least when it’s something I really care about. So I joined her. My sister is both a powerhouse and an inspiration and the care of new parents became something we both got involved in. We teach classes together. We’ve got a blog.” He grinned at the table. “It’s pretty great.” 

“That’s incredible.”

Cas’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Family’s everything, right?” Dean gave up any pretense of finishing his dessert and leaned across the table. “So you wanna tell me how accountant-doula Cas is also fluent in sign language?”

Cas looked smug. “I’ve got a gifted tongue,” he said with a wink, then laughed as Dean scowled at him for his pun. “Seriously, though! I took a bunch of language coursework in college and when I started to back off from the business I got back into it. That’s how I met Eileen. I was in one of her business ASL seminars a few years ago and we hit it off.” Cas took a deep breath. “And that’s enough about me. Talk to me about your life story.”

“My whole life story, huh?” Dean shifted in his seat. While being a knitter seemed to have bagged him some points, he wasn’t even remotely on Cas’s level. He smiled and lifted one shoulder. “Well, I do construction. Been in that business for about fifteen years now. Poured a lot of time a few years back into fixing up my car.” He let his shoulder fall. “Not much to say. Nothing special, anyway.”  _ Nothing good, at least. _

Cas opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then he seals his lips and tilts his head. 

“What?” Dean feels flayed under that still blue gaze. 

“That’s not true.” Dean grinned and rolled his eyes but Cas leaned across the table. “When I said I’d heard some things about you from Eileen and Sam I may have downplayed the extent,” he says quietly. 

Dean withdraws his hand and settles back into his seat with a deep sigh. There’s a reason there’s just a water glass in front of him. He tries to keep his tone light as he asks, “What did you hear?”

Cas props his chin against his palm. His blue eyes are mesmerizing and crinkle kindly at the corners when he says, “When you first walked into that hospital room I’ll admit I was a little put off. You had the leather jacket and this...swagger.” He mimed popping a collar like a greaser in a musical. “It wasn’t what I expected.” He held up a hand to Dean’s frown in supplication. “It wasn’t what I expected because all I hear about is how sweet and wonderful and devoted you are to family. I’d imagined you to look...different.” He laughs at Dean’s look of surprise. “Filtered through Eileen, of course. After watching you and Sam interact I’m surprised I haven’t heard more stories about childhood pranks gone wrong.” 

Dean points a careful finger at Cas and narrows his eyes. “I knew you two were talking about me that night.”

Cas held up his hands. “Guilty.”

“Well, I’m…” Dean didn’t know what to say. He’d never had someone try to plunge so suddenly and thoroughly down into the Dean Winchester morass. 

Cas shifted in his seat but he grew animated as he spoke, a high flush rising in his cheeks. “I know you raised Sam. Sam told me you gave up everything for him. You worked two jobs so he could go to law school. You took care of him your whole life. So you say ‘nothing special’ but what I  _ see _ is amazing. I look at you and I see someone extraordinary.” Cas smiles gently. “The truth is, I haven’t laid all my cards on the table. The truth is…” And he looks at the table as though it’s a divining ball, his downturned face suddenly projecting vulnerability. “I might have developed a little crush on just the  _ idea  _ of you. And I wonder,” he says, “if you would like to continue the evening. At my place?”

Cas looks so oddly hopeful, as though he weren’t the one holding all the cards here. Dean feels like someone stuffed him in a flour sack and tossed him in a river and he eventually struggles out of his stupor to say, “Yeah. Yes! Oh my god, yes.”

A smile spreads like sunshine across Cas’s face and he relaxes back in the booth seat with the gusto normal people reserve for collapsing after a marathon. The relief in his grin makes Dean realize that Cas had been, if possible, more nervous than he’d been about their date. He feels himself unwind in response and grins at Cas. He doesn’t realize that they’re doing nothing but staring at each other like two smiling fools until Cas says, “Good,” and nods his head sharply as though a contract has been struck. 

Suddenly there’s a sock clad foot dancing along Dean’s inner calf. Cas’s toes travel up his leg and around to Dean’s opposite knee, rendering Dean suddenly and effectively speechless while Cas curls his mouth smugly in the opposite seat.  _ How is he doing that without moving a--? Oh god his foot is…  _ Dean spots their waiter and raises his hand for the check. 

* * *

On the way to Cas’s house Cas slips his arm along the back of the bench seat and, still maintaining a decorous distance, he starts to stroke Dean’s neck. All the hairs on the back of Dean’s head stand up. And other body parts begin to stand up as well.  _ Again _ . Cas’s touch is light at first, barely there. And then he presses his fingers gently into the hollow at the base of Dean’s skull down to the top of his shoulders and up again. He splays his hand in Dean’s hair and circles his fingers slowly. So slowly. Dean finds himself torn between begging Cas to never stop or ordering him to  _ stop for the love of god please _ or he’ll keel over from overstimulation. Dean’s entire body feels like a tangled mess of electrical wiring bundled under his skin. 

Just inside Cas’s doorway Dean combusts. He pushes Cas into the closed door and slides his palms to cradle Cas’s cheeks as he kisses him deeply. He runs his tongue along Cas’s lips, along his teeth. Dean kisses like he’s unlocking a puzzle box and Cas returns his passion on every level, moaning his name and rutting against him.

Dean runs one hand to tease the short hairs at the base of Cas’s neck and drops his other hand down to that beautiful leather jacket. He slips his fingers further still until his palm slides over the hard nub of Cas’s nipple. Dean rolls his thumb over it and Cas moans under his touch and arches into him. “Bedroom?” Dean gasps because he’s a gentleman, damn it.

Cas leads him through the darkened hallway to an equally dark bedroom. He disappears inside and flicks on a bedside lamp, then shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over a chair. Dean looks around appreciatively. The room is tidy and small with plants and a tall bookshelf in the corner and a wide, wide bed. Cas sidles up to Dean and pulls him inside. 

Dean settles his hand around Cas’s ostentatious belt buckle and tugs, hard, so he can maneuver Cas’s hips to his own. He noses along Cas’s jaw until he can taste his gorgeous neck. Dean licks and when Cas leans in to the touch, he nips at the skin. 

“More of that, please,” Cas says in a shaky tone, then his hands are in Dean’s flannel, pushing it from his shoulders. They undress each other in spates punctuated by kisses until Dean finds himself with only his boxers on straddling an only half naked Cas on the bed. 

“You like that?” Cas whispers. He has one firm hand gripping Dean’s ass and the other on Dean’s opposite thigh and he’s pulling Dean down to grind against Cas’s hard length under his jeans and his ridiculously large belt buckle. Dean throws his head back. He wants to come. He wants to get Cas off. He wants to undo these jeans dragging at his skin and undulate into Cas until they’re both spent and gasping on the mattress. He needs it quick and dirty and fast before he burns into ash. 

“I like that, but I want more.” Dean pushes back, away from Cas’s grip. Cas immediately releases him and Dean scoots back and begins to work open Cas’s belt buckle. He unwraps Cas like a decadent chocolate, bending to taste him. When Cas is bare he tears away the rest of his own clothing and climbs on top of the beautiful man on the bed. Cas is fully aroused, cock leaking a little at the tip and Dean trails his finger slowly up the length of Cas’s body as he climbs back onto the bed. He pauses to slide his finger up Cas’s shaft and over the slit, then jumps to his abdomen, his chest, his incredibly sensitive, magic-playground nipples. Dean throws a leg over Cas and lowers his body down until he can feel their warmth meld together. He rolls his hips experimentally, his cock thrusting gently against Cas. Cas inhales sharply, his pupils blown wide, neck long and inviting. Dean buries himself in Cas’s clavicle and for a few minutes he’s content simply sucking bruises into Cas’s neck and feeling the other man tremble beneath him. He takes a cue from the most erotic drive of his entire life and slides one hand into Cas’s hair, gently massaging at his scalp and Cas arches into the touch like a pleased cat and then catches his lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss, lips barely open and tongue just darting between Dean’s lips. This sensuality laced with the gentle intimation of innocence (however contrary that is to the moaning, writhing man under his hips) undoes Dean and he bites along the shell of Cas’s ear before he whispers, “Where your fucking lube?” He slides his body along Cas again and Cas bucks his hips. 

And then Cas keeps pressing upward until Dean finds himself leveraged off of Cas and onto his side. Cas rolls over onto him with what must be the limber superpower of a true yogic master.  _ Oh god, Cas is strong _ . Dean grins up at Cas, only to have him disappear almost immediately as he leans to the side to rummage in a bedside table. He returns with lube and a condom in hand, looking rumpled and effusively eager. Cas sets them to the side, straddles Dean, and then immediately runs his hand between his legs, between Dean legs, and down to press into Dean’s crack. Dean shouts at the pressure in surprise and then nods. “Yeah, please.” 

Cas slides his golden hands across Dean’s hips to his thighs, moves to the side, and then wraps his hands around the backsides of Dean’s knees to pull his legs so they’re bent with his feet planted on the mattress. He kneels inside the cave of Dean’s legs. The moment his tongue meets Dean’s thigh his fingers begin to press into the flesh behind Dean’s knees and he licks and bites a meandering trail that steals the air from Dean’s lungs. There’s a click of a cap and cool fingers in his ass and Dean rides it all while Cas lovingly mauls him with tongue and fingertip. 

When Cas has several fingers plunging into Dean’s ass and Dean is reduced to incoherent moans, Cas rises up from between Dean’s legs. Under the golden lamplight he’s impossibly beautiful and he smiles at Dean. 

Dean’s half blissed out already and he pulls Cas down to him so their bodies can melt together. When Cas enters him he arches off the bed and wraps one leg around his waist. He’s in a frenzy, desperate for relief. He feels like he’ll burn out of his skin if he can’t funnel some of this energy off into an orgasm right now. So he gasps almost immediately, “Touch me, Cas.”

Cas, with his hand around Dean, and his lips tasting him, and his cock plunging rhythmically, fucks Dean to oblivion. 

Afterwards they lie side by side under the curtain of midnight, their limbs tangled together. Dean traces the angles of Cas’s face and Cas closes his eyes and leans into the touch for a moment before leaning in. He kisses Dean slow and sweet and a little dirty.  _ That should be our motto _ , Dean thinks. He opens his lips and his arms and very likely his heart and then he reels Cas in. 

* * *

The next morning dawns with a sweet rose blush through the windows. Dean stretches in the sheets and points his toes so his whole body turns into one long line of tension. He releases the stretch with a yawn and rolls towards Cas, who’s apparently been awake, lying with his head propped up on his fist. He smiles at Dean.

“Good morning,” Cas says, then leans in and kisses him carefully, gently. The distance is back so Dean wraps his hand around Cas’s waist and pulls him in close so their hips press together and they breathe the same air. 

Dean looks up at Cas through lazy eyelashes. “Any plans for today?” Cas pretends to consider the question and Dean chuckles at his transparent posturing. “Okay, then. How about you go to Fireman’s Park with me this morning? My friend Charlie owns a gaming and hobby shop and I promised I’d hit up their kite demo.” He swirls his thumb over Cas’s nipple and Cas sucks in a breath and presses into the touch, his forehead nudging Dean’s own as he writhes in surprise. “I’ll feed you ice cream from Bluephies. And then you can come back here and fuck me.”

Cas pulls back with a frown and grabs at Dean’s hand, placing it gently aside from his nipple. “Dean,” he says quietly in his sex-low voice, “I don’t like to plan my sex.” 

There’s no boxing up Dean’s surprise and disappointment. Cas hooks a leg over Dean’s hip so he can ride up on Dean. “How about you fuck me now and then we proceed with the rest of the day as planned?” Dean grins and grabs Cas’s muscular thigh and pulls it higher, closer. 

“That sounds amazing,” he says. “That sounds perfect.” Dean leans in to kiss Cas, and it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to add anything more to this story and then I started thinking about postpartum depression and suddenly knew what motivated Doula!Cas. 
> 
> I didn't have PPD after the birth of my own child but I had some pretty seriously bad baby blues and anxiety. I think I cried at just about every single doctor at my clinic during my child's early checkups. (You're welcome, doctors.) Fortunately, sleep and time and the gradual easing of all those fucking pregnancy hormones were all I needed to regain some equilibrium. I hope I did Hannah's story justice. Please let me know if I didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> File under things I write when I should be writing other things.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
